All American Nightmare
by majamonisourotp
Summary: A white-fence southern suburb goes from perfect to petrified at the hands of a sadistic Unsub. The BAU's endurance is being tested to the limits, when an injured stranger throws himself into the middle of their case, asking for the team member who had left them nearly two years ago. With Emily returning from England, the team must face an old battle they never even knew existed.
1. Unidentified Subject

**So this account is basically just for the members/admins to read for our own enjoyment, and also the annoyance of the said OTP Majestic and Damon, two wonderful friends of ours who didn't believe us when we told them we'd write fanfiction about them. No no, we're not crazy. We just like to annoy the absolute shit out of our friends. Welcome aboard this fabulous ship. To those who aren't in on the joke, think of this as two OC's set in our beloved world of criminal minds.**

**-K**

It had been a long number of days at the BAU. Every day, this case was getting closer and closer to a dead end.

Morgan had long since lost his temper, Reids genius mind was losing its sharp edge, Garcia was running out of kitten pictures.

Hotch and JJ were constantly checking on their sons, and Rossi had more than a few bottles of well aged scotch in his hotel room.

And now Blake was questioning if she wanted to keep the job after all.

The first three victims had been young females in the age range of seventeen to twenty four, their necks broken after exactly two days of brutal torture. And the next five had been male, all of which had been twenty seven, handcuffed by their wrists, electrocuted and shot execution style. The only reason they'd been able to tie the victims together was the scabbed over '_X', _burned into the back of each victim's upper neck. Their Unsub obviously wanted credit for his work.

It was one victim in particular that had brought them to this case. There had been a note, left on the last female body. In a perfectly neat, textbook style scrawl, had been three simple words.

_Behavioral Analysis Unit._

They had been singled out, brought to the case on the killers request.

JJ sighed, running a hand through her hair, grabbing another hot cup of caffeine from Reid. "How much longer can we keep this up?"

"My guess is it'll be another week or two before Hotch hands the case over," Rossi answered, his tone not entirely enthusiastic.

"Who do we hand it over to?" Morgan leaned against the nearest door frame, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"I don't care who it goes to," Blake muttered. "I just want it over with."

"My hopes are that we can wrap this up as a unit," Hotch had come up behind them like a ghost, his eyes not leaving the open file in his hands. "The Unsub asked for us specifically. If we leave, the killings could only get worse. It could anger him. So you're not going to find out where the case would go. We're going to stay right here. But right now we're going to get back to our rooms, get some rest. We've got another long day, and another one after that."

Morgan let out a deep breath, throwing his jacket over his shoulder while Reid jogged around a few desks to get his bag. JJ retreated to go collect Garcia, who had flown out upon request, and Blake stood with Hotch, who engaged in a conversation with Rossi about their next tactic.

The small southern police station had fallen into a quiet hum of stressed induced labor, and the sound of keyboard clicks and dial tones were constant.

It was this kind of static that they had grown accustomed to.

And in the next five seconds, all of that would be disrupted.

The large wooden doors slammed open, the wind and rain from outside swirling in like a frenzied smoke. At first they didn't quite see him, his black hair and clothes blending with the night outside. But he stumbled in, his pale skin greatly contrasting with the rest of him, causing the blood soaking his shirt to stick out even more than it would have on its own.

"Aaron!" Despite his frightened appearance, the boys voice was a sharp bark, demanding and loud.

The doors had been pushed closed once again, and now the entire room was focused him, most looking on in concern.

He pushed himself forward, nearly losing his footing, before catching himself, putting his dead weight on his hands, which he rested on the nearest desk.

"Damon?" Hotch's voice stayed as calm as it ever had been, but he had stepped forward, placing a hand on the boys shoulder. "What are you doing here? What happened to you?"

"I need to-" He cut himself off, trying to steady his hard breathing, ignoring his questions entirely. "I need to talk to Emily. Where the hell is Emily Prentiss?"


	2. Old room, new information

"Stop this," the boy snapped at Garcia who had been trying to get a look at his injuries since they had brought him into the nearest empty room.

It had once been used for interrogations, but seeing as the police station had recently been remodeled, and there was a much more up to date one on the other side of the building, this one was now used for storage.

"You need to let us take you to a hospital," Hotch demanded for the fifth time.

"There's no need," he repeated, answering Aaron as he had been every time he asked. "Flesh wounds, shallow cuts. I can take care of it myself."

"Damon, you're hurt. We can talk about whatever happened later but right now-"

"That is _not the problem at hand here!" _Damon's voice had risen to a shout.

"Then what is?"

Silence met Hotch's calm question, and Damon scowled, turning his back, pacing, like a tiger in a cage.

"Have you gotten ahold of Emily yet?" His yells had subsided back to a calm monotone.

"We're working on it."

Morgan shot Hotch a sideways glance. 'We're working on it' almost always meant they hadn't done a thing about it yet. It was a tactic he saved only for interrogations.

"How do you know Emily?" Garcia asked calmly, having since given up her attempts to help him.

"She's my cousin."

"She's never mentioned you before," Reid interjected.

"Of course she hasn't," he muttered, talking to himself rather than the agents around him. "I am the _bane _of my poor mothers existence. Not exactly a crowned jewel on the family tree. I can see why she'd want to keep my name out of the mouths of the precious FBI."

"We specialize in serial killers," JJ said. "Why would we need to worry about you?"

"Oh, you don't," he waved off her comment. "It's a family pride thing."

"Damon, what happened to you?" Aaron asked again.

"I just need to talk to Emily. Or you. _Alone._"

Hotch looked for a moment as if he might agree to his terms, when Morgan spoke instead.

"We're just as much of the team as he is, or Emily was," his tone was firm. "If you're going to talk, its going to have to be in front of all of us."

Spencer shifted awkwardly where he stood. Morgan had cornered the kid, and he could see that that wouldn't fly well. To get the information they needed, Derek would have to bend.

"Damon," Spencers voice was soft as he sat down in one of the chairs across from where the tall boy stood. "Is Emily in any kind of danger?"

"That depends," his voice had taken on a steady calm, yet there was something about the edge of rage in his voice that was a bit unhinging.

"On what?"

"Whether or not he's satisfied with what he's already got."

"Who's 'he'?" Rossi asked dryly.

"Wow," Damon's voice was bitter. "I thought you could have pieced it together somehow. This freak you guys are looking for. The Creek Killer?"

"We try not to use the media's nicknames. It gives the Unsub more power over the public," JJ found herself saying the words on automatic, an old Media Liaison habit that hadn't quite died out. She shook her head a bit, and continued. "Are you saying the killer is connected to Emily somehow?"

"Not just Emily. Me. Jes. You. All of you, actually."

He sat down across from Reid, and it looked for a moment as if Spencer could have been in the middle of a questioning process, before Damon tipped his chair back, stretching his long legs out onto the table before him, a satisfied grin now growing on his face. "Have you not figured that out? Or has he decided not to release that information to you yet?"

"You know who are Unsub is?" Morgan stood straighter now.

"You dont?"

At the silence that greeted his statement, his grin morphed into something sinister.

"Well, well. Aren't you in a pretty little situation now?"


End file.
